


Touch me, trust me, savour each sensation

by yourbuttervoicedbeau (kiwiana)



Series: Kink!verse [12]
Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Anal Fisting, Canon Compliant, Episode: s04e11 The Rollout, Fisting, Fisting but make it tender, Like So Many Feelings, M/M, POV David Rose, Patrick Brewer: Service Top, Porn with Feelings, The filth to tender ratio did not shake out how I intended in this one!, Trust Kink, Very affectionate trolling, gratuitous phantom of the opera references, letting go of control, so glad that’s a tag lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-16
Updated: 2020-07-16
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:26:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25310830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiwiana/pseuds/yourbuttervoicedbeau
Summary: “I want your whole fucking hand,” David blurts out before he can stop himself and Patrick freezes, staring at him with wide eyes. “Wait. Um, forget I said that.”
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Series: Kink!verse [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1768552
Comments: 67
Kudos: 319





	Touch me, trust me, savour each sensation

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to another kink!verse instalment! Reading the earlier stories is not required (though, as the very biased author I obviously recommend it); they stand alone and are essentially canon-compliant (just with a different first meeting and their relationship being a month longer than canon) so that folks can tap out of any kinks/fetishes/etc that aren't for them as we go.
> 
> Please assume that if you don't see something being negotiated on-screen, they've discussed it off-screen. Also, just a reminder to please not take your kink advice from fanfic. Do your research first, and not from AO3.
> 
> I genuinely can’t believe I found a Phantom of the Opera lyric that fit this well for the title.

Patrick Brewer is either the nicest person alive or a terrible troll. Possibly both.

No amount of  _ don’t come _ or  _ you don’t need to see this _ or _ seriously Patrick, I look hideous _ had stopped him from insisting he’d come to the store as soon as he got back from his seminar. David locks the door the second 5pm hits, completing their closeout tasks in record time before he takes to pacing the floor anxiously. He’s 98 per cent sure Patrick isn’t going to break up with him for having a rash. 

Maybe 95 per cent. 

He’s in the stockroom when he hears the front door unlock, and he takes a few deep breaths before he steps through the curtain to see Patrick standing in the middle of the shop floor. There’s a long pause while Patrick just looks at him from across the counter, eyes roaming over his face.

“Okay,” he says finally. “Well, I can always fuck you from behind, I guess.”

David’s mouth drops open. “You are a horrible person,” he declares, and Patrick laughs. 

“David, you look  _ fine.” _

“I look like the Phantom of the Opera,” he grumbles, for the second time that day. He needs to figure out a better reference.

“Yeah, that is a problem,” Patrick says seriously. David just waits for the comment he knows is about to follow, and sure enough: “I just don’t have the vocal range for Christine.”

“Mm-hmm, okay.”

”And who is Raoul?” Patrick adds, breathless. “Should I be keeping an eye out?”

“Great, thank you so much for your support, you can go now.”

Patrick’s teasing expression drops. “Seriously, David, I know how much poison oak sucks,” he says softly. “But I’ve got some calamine lotion in my hiking pack. Why don’t you come home with me and I can put that on you?”

David sucks in a breath. “There is no way I am letting Ray see me like this.”

Patrick grimaces. “Yeah, that’s— yeah. Okay. Then I’ll go get it, and come see you at the motel.”

David hesitates. Patrick’s been working all day; he should go home and relax, not run around taking care of David because he decided to stick his face into poison oak like an idiot. “You don’t have to,” he tries, and Patrick rolls his eyes.

“I know that, David. I want to,” he says simply. “I’ll swing by in about an hour?”

David nods.

“Can I have a kiss before I go?”

“Um,” David grimaces. “What if it’s contagious?”

“I think I’ll risk it,” Patrick laughs, coming around the counter and sliding his arms around David’s waist. He pulls David in close and kisses him, harder than he normally would in full view of the windows, and David appreciates the gesture even if it is motivated by pity at his hideous state.

“Okay,” Patrick says when he pulls away. “I’ll see you soon.” He heads for the door, stopping once his hand is on the handle to look back. “Think of me fondly.”

David furrows his brow. “Think… what?”

“When we've said goodbye,” Patrick continues, his eyes wide.

“What are you—” And then he realises. “Oh, God, no.”

“Remember me once in a while, please promise me you'll try,” Patrick sings, and David glares at him.

“Don’t you think I’ve been traumatised enough for one day?” he yells as Patrick laughs all the way out the door.

Patrick turns up at the motel an hour later with both calamine lotion and pizza, so David forgives him. They tuck themselves onto the tiny bed and watch TV while they eat, and Patrick was right — the cream does make his face itch a lot less, and by the weekend there’s no longer any evidence of the rash.

The Phantom jokes take a little longer to go away.

* * *

David has never seen the appeal of curling. Even as far as sports go, it seems pretty pointless. But he has a newfound appreciation for it when Ray’s team competes in the regional championship, which takes Ray all the way to Elm Falls for two whole nights.

David is gripping the headboard so hard his knuckles are starting to hurt as Patrick touches him everywhere, light fingers trailing every part of his skin except where he desperately needs to be touched, hard and aching. He’s not sure if they’ve been here ten minutes or ten hours but he’s grateful for the empty house, his pleading getting louder and more desperate the more Patrick touches him. The more on edge he feels the calmer Patrick looks, and David can’t tell if it’s unbearably hot or incredibly fucking frustrating. Probably both.

By the time he hears the lube bottle being uncapped David is sure he’ll come at the slightest provocation, so it’s almost a relief when Patrick skips past his dick entirely and instead starts circling one slick finger around his rim. David tries to press into the touch, only for Patrick to pull back.

“Please,” he begs. “Patrick, please—” 

“Please what?” Patrick asks casually.

David groans, throwing his head back. “Please put your  _ fucking _ fingers inside me,” he snarls. 

“Well, seeing as you asked so politely.” Patrick is laughing at him, and it really shouldn’t make him harder. He opens his mouth to make a comment but then Patrick slides a finger inside him in one smooth movement, fucking in and out, so good and not enough. He shifts his grip on the bars and presses back, trying and failing to get Patrick in deeper.

“Was there something you wanted?” Patrick says, and David grits his teeth.

“More,” he spits out. He thinks Patrick might push him but instead he pulls his finger out and when it returns there’s a second one next to it, twisting as Patrick presses them in and out, stretching him open.

All David can think about the feel of Patrick’s fingers in his ass. There’s something about the way Patrick fucks him, whether with his fingers or his cock, that makes David feel more full and satisfied than he can ever remember; he doesn’t even realise he’s chanting  _ more, more, more _ until Patrick stops moving his hand, two fingers still buried inside him.

“Oh, do you want three?” Patrick asks. He’s doing that condescending, teasing thing that David should hate and instead drives him absolutely crazy; he can’t think, when Patrick talks to him like this, and he definitely can’t filter his thoughts.

“I want your whole fucking hand,” David blurts out before he can stop himself and Patrick freezes, staring at him with wide eyes. “Wait. Um, forget I said that.”

“Okay, well we both know  _ that’s  _ not going to happen,” Patrick says as he pulls his fingers out carefully, but his voice is warm rather than disgusted and David lets himself relax a little. “You want me to fist you?”

“It’s fine, you don’t have to—”

“That wasn’t the question,” Patrick interrupts him with a small smile. “Do you  _ want _ me to fist you?”

“Yes,” David breathes. “So much.” Patrick still looks surprised, though not necessarily unwilling, and a thought occurs to him. “Um, where did fisting land on your sex spreadsheet?”

“Honestly?” David nods quickly, and Patrick lets his eyes dart away. “It got filed under ‘extremely hot and also terrifying’.”

David nods again. “Okay, yeah, that’s fair,” he says, because the idea of someone putting their whole hand inside you  _ is _ kind of terrifying. “But just because  _ I _ want it doesn’t mean  _ you _ ever have to—” 

“David,” Patrick says softly, cutting him off. “That’s not what— I don’t want to hurt _ you.” _

David blinks. 

That is… not the objection he was expecting.

“I trust you,” he whispers, and Patrick’s eyes fly up to meet his, shocked. That can’t be the first time he’s said that, can it? “I trust you,” he says again, stronger. “And I don’t— you don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with, but— but you can trust  _ me. _ To talk you through it. And to ask you to stop if it’s too much.”

Patrick looks at him for a long moment. “Okay,” he says finally. “Talk me through it. How do we do this?”

David takes a deep breath and tries to think. He’s been on Patrick’s end of this before, but not as often as he’s taken it and only with vaginas, which are a bit more… well. Self-lubricating, for a start. But he knows what he likes; he knows what feels good. 

He can do this. He can guide Patrick through this. 

If he fucks this up, Patrick might never be comfortable trying again. 

“Lube,” he starts, and Patrick nods as he picks up the bottle. “Like, a stupid amount of lube. All the way up to your wrist.”

Patrick takes him at his word, squeezing an ungodly amount of lube into his palm before using his other hand to spread it around, from the tips of his fingers to well past his wrist and around to the back of his hand as well. It’s going to be slippery, David thinks, but that’s certainly better than the alternative. 

“That’s good,” he says, and Patrick’s eyes flicker.  _ Interesting, _ David thinks, but files it away for later. “Now it’s— you can start like normal. Start with three, if you want; you already stretched me out so good.”

David’s half-expecting Patrick to start teasing him again, maybe go back to one finger, but it seems like the drawing it out portion of the evening is over; he circles David’s hole, getting it nice and slippery before he slides three fingers in, twisting them around the way he always does. Except this time, instead of opening David up for his dick he’s preparing to put his whole hand inside. The thought makes David’s erection, which flagged a little during their conversation, return with a vengeance and when one of Patrick’s fingers brushes against his prostate, he can feel a burst of precome drip onto his stomach. 

“Okay,” he gasps. “You can add another. If you, um, kind of tuck your pinky under your ring finger, that feels really good.”

Patrick pulls out and pushes back in, with just a bit more pressure than before. “Like this?” he asks, and David nods. 

“Exactly like that, that’s so good.” His arms are starting to ache and he lets go of the headboard, shaking them out before letting them fall to his sides. To his surprise, Patrick reaches up with the hand that isn’t otherwise occupied and laces their fingers together, squeezing tight; it’s a gesture of reassurance, and David’s honestly not sure if he’s giving it or getting it, but he squeezes back. He lets Patrick fuck him with four fingers for a while, letting the stretch settle into something more comfortable until he’s aching for more. 

“You can, um,” he says, and Patrick stops moving to look up at him, face furrowed in concentration. “If you like… make a duck?”

Patrick blinks. “Make a  _ what?” _

David holds up the hand that isn’t holding Patrick’s to show him what he means, his thumb and pinky touching underneath the pads of his other three fingers. “A duck,” he repeats, and Patrick’s face clears in understanding. Then once again, David is empty for a long moment before Patrick is filling him up again, more full than before as all of Patrick’s fingers slowly push their way inside. He gets up to what feels like the base of his thumb and then stops, unmoving. 

“Is that—”

“Keep going,” David cuts him off before he can finish. He’s so  _ close, _ so close to just being stuffed full the way he’s craving, if Patrick will just—

“Okay,” Patrick murmurs, and then he’s pushing, pushing, pushing and David is stretching, stretching, stretching — then, with one final slip Patrick is all the way inside, right up to the wrist. A sound is pulled out of David’s throat that he didn’t even know he could make, bone-deep satisfaction expressing itself in something between a moan and a sigh. 

It’s never felt like this. Fisting, whether he’s been giving or receiving, has always been something hot and filthy — which this absolutely is, he’s so fucking hard he’s pretty sure he could cut through steel right now, but it’s more too. It’s a feeling of closeness (not just physically, although… obviously that) David couldn’t have imagined having before meeting Patrick. It’s Patrick trusting him to let him take the lead, being willing to try something out of his comfort zone and believing that David will make sure it’s good. It’s the freedom of knowing he can be open about the things he likes, without shame or recrimination. 

“David, are you good?” Patrick asks, and it’s only then that David realises how long it’s been since he’s said anything. His eyes are stinging, and he blinks quickly before Patrick can get the wrong idea. 

Patrick doesn’t ask for a colour, and David doesn’t give him one. It feels important, in a way it never has to David before, to not treat this like any other scene. 

“I’m so good,” he says instead, squeezing where their fingers are still laced together. “This is perfect, it’s exactly what I needed, thank you.”

Patrick groans, low in his throat like he’s the one getting fucked, because Patrick gets off on giving David  _ exactly what he needs _ and they both know it. “What do I do now?”

“Just— move around a bit? Don’t, like, fuck in and out, but if you move your fingers—” he stutters to a stop as Patrick does exactly that, his fingers rotating cautiously at first and then with a bit more intention. He lets his eyes flutter shut, revelling in the overwhelming pleasure and almost-too-muchness of it all, and is just considering whether he should touch himself when two of Patrick’s knuckles press up against his prostate and he yelps, a jolt of white-hot pleasure rushing through him.”

“Are you—”

“Touch me,” David gasps. “Fuck, I’m so close, that’s so— I need—”

“Fuck, fuck, okay,” Patrick says, letting go of David’s hand and wrapping it around his cock instead. That touch is all he needs and he screams out a sob as his orgasm is torn out of him, stars exploding behind his eyelids as he comes, ribbons of come spurting all over his stomach and chest. He comes for a long, long time; he’s dimly aware of Patrick gasping his name but he can barely hear it over his pulse thundering in his ears. When it’s finally over he sinks back into the mattress, limbs loose as his vision clears. And then Patrick is pulling out, as carefully as he can but it leaves David feeling so, so empty and he can’t help the whimper that escapes him at the loss.

“Fuck me,” he gasps. “Patrick, it will feel so good, fuck me.”

Patrick huffs out a breath, pressing his face into David’s thigh. “I can’t,” he mumbles, and his face feels… hot? Is Patrick  _ blushing? _

“You can,” David tries. “It doesn’t feel that different, I promise, it’s not— I think you’d like it.” He clears his throat. “But if you don’t want to, I can do something else, obviously, I didn’t mean to—” 

Patrick cuts him off with a strained laugh. “No, that’s not— trust me, David, wanting is  _ not _ the problem.” He grimaces before pulling himself up onto his knees, still determinedly avoiding eye contact; David’s gaze travels from his face which, yes, is bright red for some reason, down to where Patrick is still wearing his navy boxer briefs— 

Oh.  _ Oh. _

Patrick never loses control during sex, not in all the months David has known him. Except, apparently, when he has his fist in David’s ass — that, it seems, is enough to make him come in his underwear without laying a finger on himself.

“Holy fuck,” David whispers and Patrick groans, pressing a hand over his eyes. He looks genuinely upset and David bites his lip, sitting up with some effort.

“Hey, come here,” he says, wrapping a hand around Patrick’s wrist and tugging them both backwards so that Patrick is lying next to him, both on their backs. Then he leans over, taking Patrick’s face in his hands, kissing him until he finally feels Patrick relax into it.

“I’m sorry,” Patrick mumbles against his lips and David pulls away. 

“Okay, no,” he says quickly. “Please don’t apologise. Like, this is deeply, deeply validating for me, you know that, right?”

Patrick snorts, burying his face into David’s shoulder. “It’s not validating, it’s  _ humiliating.” _

“Okay, but…” David hesitates as he tries to find the words, bringing a hand up to stroke along Patrick’s arm. “You are always, like,  _ so _ in control when we have sex? Which, don't get me wrong, is very hot. No complaints about that. It’s just…” he screws up his face, suddenly glad Patrick isn’t looking at him. “It’s nice to know, I guess, that you might lose that control occasionally. It’s flattering that I can get you that… worked up.”

“Are you kidding?” That makes Patrick look at him; he props himself up on one arm so they’re facing each other. “David, you make me— I don’t feel in control around you at  _ all.” _

David frowns. “I’m… not actually sure if that’s a compliment.”

“It is,” Patrick insists. “I’ve never— it’s never been like this for me. I want you  _ all the time. _ Did you know I’ve had to jerk off in the bathroom at work thinking about what I want to do with you?”

This feels like a trick question. “Yeah, I was there,” he says hesitantly. “Tied to a chair, remember?”

Patrick laughs. “Yeah, no, that was definitely not the first time I’ve done that,” he says, and David gapes at him. “I— you’re  _ really _ hot, David,” he continues helplessly. “Why do you think I’m so insistent on not doing anything during business hours?”

“Um, because ‘making out like teenagers is not in keeping with the professional image we want to cultivate’?” David quotes at him.

“Oh, so you  _ do _ listen to me,” Patrick teases. “But when I tell you how to enter receipts into the accounting software…”

“That sounds like something the numbers guy should be taking care of,” David says primly, and Patrick laughs before his face softens.

“Thank you, David,” he says quietly.

“For what?”

Patrick’s eyes are locked on his. “For making me feel better about this. For making it okay.”

David closes his eyes to fight back the tears he can feel forming. He doesn’t have a good response so instead he wraps a hand around the back of Patrick’s neck, pulling him in for a kiss that he hopes shows everything he’s feeling; if the way Patrick moans into it is any indication, he’s probably succeeding. He leans back, tugging Patrick to lie on top of him, but as soon their bodies press together Patrick winces.

“Okay, no, nope, I have to shower,” he says quickly. “That is  _ disgusting.” _

And, yeah, now David is thinking about it, they’re both pretty gross. “Mm, yep, a shower is probably a good idea,” he says, pulling himself out of bed. He doesn’t miss the way Patrick’s eyes darken when he sees how stiffly David is holding himself, but he decides that wherever his expression is leading can wait until after they’ve both cleaned up.

“I do trust you, you know,” David says quietly, while they’re waiting for the water to heat up. “And not just with sex stuff.”

Patrick kisses his shoulder. “I know you do, David. I trust you too.”

It feels a lot like a declaration.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading! Come and find me on [Tumblr](http://yourbuttervoicedbeau.tumblr.com).


End file.
